Plain Jayne by Hillary Manton Lodge

Author:Hillary Manton Lodge
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers, Inc.

Shane’s offer of travel time slumber was sweet, if impractical. If I couldn’t sleep in my bed, logic followed that sleeping in a car while he griped about other drivers wasn’t particularly likely.

I closed my eyes anyway.

He shook me “awake” once we entered the town of Rose Lodge. “Mind if we get something to eat when we get there? I’m starved.”

“We’re close to Otis Café, if they’re not too busy.”

Shane studied the sparse, rural buildings and lots littered with the occasional mobile home on cement blocks. “Busy?”

“There are only about eight tables and the café’s been written up in a lot of national press—USA Today included. It’s quite popular.”

“What kind of food?”

“Farmer’s breakfast-type fare. Man food. A lot of potatoes. The bread’s really good.” The Burkholders would love it.

Shane shrugged. “I’m game if you are. I thought you avoided carbs.”

“I’ve been living with the Amish.”

“Right. How close are we?”

“A mile or two.”

We drove for a while.

“Is that it?” he asked.

“Does it have a large sign that says ‘Café’?” I didn’t open my eyes.

“Yes.”

“Is it on the right?”

“Yes.”

“Then pull in. We’re here.”

I sat up straight and opened my door, looking out my window at the familiar sight that was Otis Café.

My family came here every year for Beth’s birthday, and often drove down for lunch after church.

It wasn’t too busy inside—we managed to slide into a table before an onslaught of diners entered on our heels.

The waitress kept looking at me while she took our order. It probably had something to do with the fact that she graduated a year before I did, and we had geometry together.

She brought the food without saying anything about it, and that was fine with me.

As I ate my potatoes, I remembered all the reasons I’d stayed away.

I didn’t like small towns. I didn’t like being remembered. Trouble was, people in small towns remembered you because there was little else to do.

Not only did they remember you, but they had an opinion on you, or whatever you were doing. Or not doing. Living in a small town was like being followed by a Greek chorus who lamented your latest mishap. Maybe that was why God and I weren’t close. He paid too much attention.

I didn’t need a chorus. I didn’t want a chorus. I wanted everyone to mind their own business. But I, of all people, knew that was simply too much to ask for.

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